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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29888523">Don't break them</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Balthaduck/pseuds/Balthaduck'>Balthaduck</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Broken thorns [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abduction, Abuse, Adopted Toby Smith | Tubbo, Angst, Cutting, DadSchlatt, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dehydration, Deviates From Canon, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Force-Feeding, Humiliation, Hurt, Hypothermia, Kidnapping, M/M, Malnutrition, Manipulation, Near Death Experiences, Non-Consensual, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Poisoning, Protective Older Brothers, Protective Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Rape/Non-con Elements, Restraints, Sleep Deprivation, Starvation, Stomach Ache, Strangulation, Temporary Character Death, Torture, Trauma, Villain Alexis | Quackity, Violence, Vomiting, coz it's like... minecraft, dare i say it, feederism, post manburg vs pogtopia war, sbi canon, stress position, that might be a bit cursed i admit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 08:49:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,895</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29888523</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Balthaduck/pseuds/Balthaduck</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He was two days into this and he was so done already. The Manburg VS Pogtopia war ended poorly for him and… well only him to be honest. No one was on his side, the realisation coming a little bit too late. Drunk in the camarvan, a few sips away from ethylic coma, Schlatt was waiting for someone to fucking kill him and to put a definitive end to this disaster of a life. He didn’t expect Wilbur to ask a literal child to do the job though. No, instead he just got thrown in a prison cell with the promise from Quackity that he’ll take good care of him.<br/>The duck's cracked. Having power over the man he despised, having him for himself, having every right over him. No one would care he they knew what he did, no one could hear anyway. Schlatt's his and he gets to use the man as he intend. He deserves it anyway. </p><p>or<br/>Quackity gets to be Schlatt's warden, Tubbo creates a new paradigm, and Schlatt want to unsign his Birth's act for a few chapters</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alexis | Quackity &amp; Jschlatt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Broken thorns [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2197566</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>52</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Blindfolded</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I'm not a native English speaker so please be forgiving. Plus, I have no idea how the formating is going to work on a phone so it might be a bit ugh to look at- aaaand still pretty new to AO3. I vener clamied to be a good writer.</p><p>Now the disclaimers : idk just read the tags, don't be a fool, enjoy this hell of a ride and buckle up</p><p>have a nice fucking stay fellas-</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He was two days into this and he was so done already. The Manburg VS Pogtopia war ended poorly for him and… well only him to be honest. No one was on his side, the realisation coming a little bit too late. Drunk in the camarvan, a few sips away from ethylic coma, Schlatt was waiting for someone to fucking kill him and to put a definitive end to this disaster of a life. He didn’t expect Wilbur to ask a literal child to do the job though. No, instead he just got thrown in a prison cell with the promise from Quackity that he’ll take good care of him.<br/>
For now, he didn’t quite fulfil it. He tied him up in a very uncomfortable position and just never came back. So there he is, his arms eagle spread from one wall to the other, on his knees but not in a position that allowed him to sit or to rest his back whatsoever, being in the middle of the room. For two days. Blindfolded.</p><p>This is already bad. No eating, no drinking, strong hangover after his alcohol binging in the camarvan, no rest for his back or knees and the constant pressure on his arms. His muscles were in shambles, stiff from the constant effort and he had no chance in ever finding sleep in this situation.<br/>
He felt his arms were close from being ripped off by the pressure. All Schlatt could do was pray for someone to come and untie him. He just spent his time listening to the slightest noise, hoping for it to be Quackity or somebody that didn’t effectively hate him (if such a person existed), his head hanging low from his pounding headache and the fatigue of his neck. The permanent darkness made him claustrophobic, trapped in his own head. He said two days but it’s not like he could actually tell time with his zero exterior indicator. Just an approximation. He knew he would die at day three, that’s how dehydration works. Actually, he would probably last less than that, his body was already a wreck before the fall of Manburg. His consciousness was slowly slipping and his thoughts were becoming the equivalent of a toddler babbling about his stuffy having a bad day. Though, he believed he’s been here for so long it had to be more than a day. So two days. </p><p>Finally answering his prayers, footsteps resonate behind the metalic door. The noise was so loud to his ears. *Please come in, please come in.* And actually, the door opened. A sigh of relief escaped his mouth only to be greeted by a chuckle, probably from Quackity. Gosh, why is everything so much ?<br/>
“-I’m happy to see you too, Schlatt.”<br/>
A hand came to free his eyes, resting the piece of fabric around his neck. The ram hybrid squinted his eyes, suddenly receiving too much information after so long in the dark. He didn’t like the painful groan that left him, a sudden sharp white flash digging into his brain. After a few seconds, he could at last see his surroundings. Not much, to be honest. Stone walls, a metalic door, a loophole and his former right-hand man kneeling in front of him obstructing the rest. It felt real. He felt a bit more grounded than before, yet he was still very far under the water.<br/>
“-You took your sweet time, flatty patty.”<br/>
His voice came out wrong, too weak, too scratchy, but he was audible.<br/>
“-I had to make some arrangements, I wouldn’t risk someone interrupting us. Don’t worry now, I took care of everything, I’m all yours. So, how do you feel sweetheart ?”<br/>
Like shit. Why did he call him that ? Sure Quackity was angry at him and he sure had reasons to be but… Schlatt’s hoping that he wasn’t too enraged. The man in front of him smiled.<br/>
“-Shut it already. What do you plan ? Make me sleep deprived ?<br/>
-If I were you, I would be more careful, Schlatt. It’s only you and me now, and you wouldn’t want to make me angry.<br/>
-Sure thing, Quack, sure thing.”<br/>
The goat man couldn’t help a mocking laugh. Maybe a tiny bit nervous laugh. </p><p>“-It’s not like someone is coming for you. You don’t have a lot of friends at the moment and it’s not like this prison is very used. You’re the only person here and I don't expect many tourists. So maybe consider showing me a bit of respect if you don’t want me to leave you two other days in this position. Remember, I’m the only one charged to look after you, no one else.”<br/>
Oh he very well considered that. But he couldn’t let go of his pride that quickly. What else did he have left at this point ? He chose to ignore the very serious threat to continue his sarcasm, swallowing.<br/>
“-Yeah, yeah. Sure thing Quackity. I’m terrified. You’re like the most menacing person on the server and I’m actually scared of what you have in reserve for me. I’m kinda touched though, you apparently took time to find little activities for me, so kind of you.”<br/>
Quackity stood up, his smile never fading. He clapped his hands together and signed a good bye.<br/>
“-Okay. Just remember that you’re doing this to yourself. I was about to give you some water. I can tell  you’re struggling to talk. Plus, you must have some nasty headache but welp if you insist.”<br/>
The man under a beanie stood up after putting a bottle of water down in front of Schlatt. He continued :<br/>
“-Behave next time.<br/>
-Wait !”<br/>
The hybrid voice actually cracked at that, making him cough. How long would he leave him like that ? He already couldn’t bear it anymore. He struggled in his restraints trying to make Quackity stay. He looked more like he was wagging than struggling.<br/>
“-It’s no use really. You did this to yourself Schlatt.<br/>
-I’ll do anything !”<br/>
The man stopped at the door. The ram instantly regretted his words, how pathetic was that ? It’s too early to stand low. Quackity looked hesitant. Was teaching him a lesson more important or could he stay a bit to enjoy that expression of his, contrasting with Schlatt's usually taunting face.<br/>
“-Perhaps I could stay… but you’ll have to earn it.”<br/>
The goat man bit his lower lip. It was really hard no to tell Quackity to fuck off and go eat some dicks. The smile turned sharper, content with Schlatt's sudden lack of snarky comment.<br/>
“-Good good. Now stand up.”<br/>
He was about to ask how the fuck he was supposed to and that there were no way his limbs could support him. He didn’t get the chance though. Quackity pulled up a lever the hybrid didn’t notice yet. His body got yanked up by the arms, his restraints forcing him to stand on his two shaky feet with a gear noise. A long whine escaped his mouth, his arms pained from the arsh jerk and his knees begging for redemption. His head trashed at the sudden movement and a flow of swears accompanied it.</p><p>“-For fuck sake Quackity, let m-<br/>
-Yeah yeah, cool.”<br/>
He was trying to look annoyed but he seemed to enjoy himself a little bit too much. It was funny to look at the former president like that, trembling and aching. It’s like he could hear his muscles scream at him, clapped out and yet still forced into the stressful position.<br/>
“-Please stop that, let me down, I-.. I can behave.<br/>
-No you fucking don’t. Not yet. But you’ll learn. Okay, let’s start easy. Say that you’re sorry. It’s easy, even you can do it.”<br/>
It’s better than what he expected but Schlatt was hesitant. Was it worth it ? Plus if Quackity was referring to what he was thinking about, he already said sorry. It was definitely worth it, if the duck hybrid didn’t detach him, his arms would probably fall off. The vibrations of his own voice was painful, the duck hydrid’s was worse.<br/>
“-I’m sorry Quackity.<br/>
-Good good, now we’re playing. Say that it was your fault and yours only.”<br/>
That’s so not true, he was there too ! He never said no ! That’s unfair. The vice president saw his hesitation and raised an eyebrow, daring him to object.<br/>
“-It’s.. it’s my fault and I shouldn't have done that. I’m sorry.<br/>
-Say that you’ll be a good boy.<br/>
-I.. what ? I didn’t know you were into that kinky shit.<br/>
-I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that and let you try again just this once.”<br/>
He looked serious now. Okay okay, he’ll do it. They’re just words that only Quackity will hear. Simple but humiliating. It’s doable. For mercy, everything is worth it.<br/>
“-I’ll be a good boy.<br/>
-Good job. You’re starting to get it.”<br/>
He just went on, asking him to say more and more embarrassing stuff each time. Making him say things like how fuckable he was, that he was there to please Quackity, how he was a drunk, a useless wreck, a rapist, his fucktoy, a baby boy and so on. It was degrading. It doesn’t matter what Quackity made him say, he needs release. He couldn’t support his head on his own, the jailer had put a hand on his chin to hold it up, delicately caressing him with his thumb, smiling kindly. He praised him sometimes, happy with how Schlatt was acting obediently.<br/>
“-I love that expression of yours. And you’re doing it all for me.”<br/>
The ram moaned softly, feeling his body and consciousness giving up on him. It was hard to maintain focus in his state. Quackity withdrew his hand and walked to the lever to pull it all the way down. All the pressure maintaining the former president up vanished with it and he fell promptly to the ground, not even trying to control his downfall with his forearms. The hard hit on his head made him think his brain was about to spill out. He wasn’t chains free though, the bonds were still on his hands but they were loose enough to let him do pretty much anything. The man in a beanie crouched next to the inanimate body of his prisoner. He made him roll over to his back and pulled him closer, making his head rest on his lap. He began stroking his dirty hair sweetly. Under him, Schlatt was flabbily covering his eyes, grunting at the pain he felt pretty much everywhere but mostly in his skull.<br/>
“-You did better than I expected. You can behave in the end. Who knew ?”</p><p>Quackity reached for the water bottle. He felt the man on his laps wriggle a bit, febrile. He was craving water so badly it was funny. Grining, he brought the bottleneck to his lips and let him drink, just putting the ram’s hands away from the bottle when he reached out for it.<br/>
“-You can drink but **I** have the bottle. You can’t have it.”<br/>
He understood. He held into his hand hoping Quackity wouldn’t pull away soon, which he did to his demise.<br/>
He whined :<br/>
“-Please Quackity, I did what you asked.<br/>
-I’m not done Schlatt. You can have the rest if you play nice. Be thankful I let you rest.”<br/>
He didn’t reply, upsetting his captor wasn’t a good idea. He literally was all mighty here. He was probably his only food and water supply, the one who decided if he was going back into that awful position and he could do pretty much anything to his body regarding how weak it was. Heck, he could even leave him to die here, he still had two lives left and he was sure Quackity wouldn’t mind taking one.<br/>
"-Don't move.”<br/>
The vice-president took a Swiss knife out of his pocket before opening it. Schlatt tensed at this, he expected Quackity to wait a bit before ripping him from one of his lives.<br/>
“-Wo-wait I- don’t please-”<br/>
He went on on his ramble while Quackity looked amused by his panic. He got up, letting the other man’s head crash into the floor, earning him more pained squeals.<br/>
The duck hybrid grabbed his clothes and started tearing them. He was still in his presidential suit, now being stripped out of it. Schlatt trashed a bit, afraid of being cut and not really willing to end up half naked in the cold atmosphere. Quackity ordered him to stay still again and was rapidly done, discarding the shirt and jacket to the side. He let the blade wander around his skin a bit, debating with himself if now was the moment to start making Schlatt bleed. He retreated his hand, he had all the time in the world, let it be long. Taking a step back, he admired the limp body in front of him. Jschlatt was unlike he ever saw him, squirming on the ground trying to keep himself warm, with glassy eyes. </p><p>Quackity came back to his sides, petting his flanks. He grabbed a horn to make his prisoner turn his head toward him. He heard a little grumble, asking him to not touch his horns. Quackity vaguely remembers the ram telling him not to touch them during that night. Ah, is this a weak spot ? Must be if he still had the strength to argue.<br/>
Taking back the bottle, he lets Schlatt finish it, taking his hands away again.<br/>
“-Stop trying to get it. Listen, let’s set some basic rules. Okay ? So, rule number one, don’t try to take things from my hands or anyone else's hands. This includes when I feed you. You take it with your mouth. Two, when someone asks you if you want something, you say no and you let that person decide what’s best for you. And don’t ask for shit. Three, I shouldn't have to say that but when you mess up, you apology. I think Tubbo will visit soon, he’s the new president. When he comes, stay quiet and play nice. I’ll add more rules later. I hope you opened your ears.”<br/>
Quackity feels a buzz on his legs. Someone must have sent a message to his communicator. Tubbo was asking him how things were going.<br/>
*Fine, it’s not like he would disappear or something.*<br/>
*I’m coming over*<br/>
Oh-<br/>
Well there is nothing much to worry about. Schlatt’s fine, just tired. And fast asleep. It Just happened sooner than expected. It was good in a way. Tubbo would see that everything is going well, Schlatt being completely unharmed (just bare chested) and then go. And hopefully, he won't come back any time soon. He had other stuff to attend to.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. A potion and a photo</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Tubbo finds a noteworthy item while Quackity is pissed. Quite literally. And torment a man some more. Coz fun that's why.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Who reads those anyway ?</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tubbo arrives promptly after. He kinda felt responsible over the former president. He was probably the one in charge of him now, apart from Quackity who proposed himself. Sure, he had him executed so he wasn’t too fan of the man but he looked so pathetic at the end of the war it was unsettling.<br/>
Quackity was there waiting for him. The cell was rather simple and kinda lacked basic needs but for now it was good enough. The prisoner was deep asleep on the slim mattress in the corner of the room, probably back-wrecking bed. He didn’t look good with his deep bags and all the sweat covering him, laying on the bed like he fell like a rag doll on top of it. He seemed tense.<br/>
The duck hybrid assured him that everything was fine, tugging at the bonds connected to the man’s hands. Schlatt wasn’t known for his inhuman physical strength, or parkour skills or anything that could help him get out. He was known for his tongue, his brain, his political aptitudes. Without a public, or an ear to lay his bright words in, what could he do ? Nothing.<br/>
Tubbo noticed the torn up clothes laying at his feet. He bent down to grab them, intrigued. Quackity knows what he's doing, -right ?-, even in unexpected ways, so that’s probably normal. He saw what he came for and he left as quickly as he arrived, leaving the jailer to do whatever he was doing in the first place. He had so much to do.</p><p>The ambiance was so uncomfortable in that cell, anyway. Quackity was nervous and fidgeting a little bit too much, impatient for something to happen. Was he in the middle of something ? That Quackity seemed… different from the man he learned to appreciate. But that’s normal, everyone is still shaken by what happened at the end of the war with Wilbur, Techno and everything. They all needed some rest. </p><p>Quackity thought that he needed to do some brewing for tomorrow. </p><p>***<br/>
Tubbo was behind his desk, the other man’s clothes still in his hand, questioning why he had taken them in the first place. He’ll just dispose of them. They’re not wearable anymore either way. Before dumping them, he searches for items in the jacket’s pockets. It would be dumb to accidentaly trow away something important. There’s not much, his inventory was emptied before he got imprisoned anyway. Plus it’s just a jacket and a dress shirt, nothing with much storage to begin with. Just a photo in his inside pocket.<br/>
It was troubling. It was a photo of Schlatt holding a kid. He looked so happy there, Tubbo never saw him smiling with such a genuine expression of joy. He was around 10 years younger he’d say, his horns not as sharp and long as they are now. The kid, him, was pretty resembling. He was hugging Schlatt with the look of pure innocence and  ecstasy signature to little kids. Was Schlatt… a father ? He never gave off any sort of information that could make Tubbo think he was. Who was this kid ? He looked so damn familiar. What was that ? His brother maybe ? It’s confusing. What happened to the kid ? Maybe he’s on another server. Or maybe it’s nothing. Some random family member or just another ram hybrid. But Schlatt carried it on himself. He kept it close to his heart the day he thought he would die. It can’t be nothing. Who’s that kid ? Or rather, how are they related ? Should he worry about this ? Or it’s just the ram’s business, his private life, his world. Tubbo shouldn’t look into it probably. He couldn’t help but feel a bit jealous. He never got to meet other ram hybrids. Sure he never went to remote servers more populated in hybrids, too deeply rooted here. There was only Schlatt. It would feel nice to meet other rams. </p><p>The lamb had little horns the president could swear he knew. He stared at the tiny figure smiling at him, slowly flipping the photo, hoping for a message on the back. And a message there was.<br/>
Two things happened simultanly when he read the first line. He felt like he was violating Schlatt intimacy, it was way too private. And there was a flood of doubts and questions in his mind. “My dear Toby” written with the elegant yet shaky handwriting of the former president. That was the most delicate thing he ever saw Schlatt say and the most groundbreaking sentence he heard. It’s silly.. right ? He read the rest of the text, frozen in his too big, too fancy chair. </p><p>He needed Philza. </p><p>It’s so silly.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>The warm feeling of a liquid being poured over him woke the ram up in a displeasing way.<br/>
“-What the fuck are you doing-”<br/>
Schlatt sat up with scruffy movements, his muscles aching vividly. His voice itself wasn’t very strong either, both from his harsh wake up and his overall shape. Not eating anything for a few days and the torture his body was put trough not doing any favor. The headache was still there, poking at his eyes and ears, it was manageable. Because he didn’t have the choice.<br/>
Why was Quackity zipping his pants back on- what the absolute fuck ? Did he just peed on him ? What’s wrong with that dude ? This left him speechless for a moment, looking at his ex-right hand man with round eyes.<br/>
Quackity looked pissed. Quite literally for that matter.<br/>
“-Shut up I’m not putting on with any of your shit today, deepshit.”<br/>
The ram hybrid wasn’t too fazed. The duck was oftently like that before. However, *he* was usually the one with a position of power. Now, the outcome of his captor’s anger was much more uncertain.<br/>
“-What’s wrong, Quackity ?”<br/>
Schlatt took a different tone, hoping that playing nice would let him get away from whatever made the duck angry in the first place. Wrong move apparently.<br/>
The vice president barked at him that he warned him not to ask questions. He then proceeded to slam his boots on the ram’s torso, chasing air out of his lungs. He stomped with all his weight on the other man. Schlatt tried to plead without any sound escaping his mouth, pinned to the ground. He wanted to gag at any air possible but nothing came in, the only thing he could do was faintly push the shoe away, without success. Quackity glared at him, any smugness out of sight. He withdrew his feet to grab the ram by the horns to drag him out of the bed. Still unable to process any air, Schlatt barely struggled, vaguely grabbing the duck hybrid wrist. His lungs felt constricted in his chest, shocked by the hit and locked without air.<br/>
“-First things first, stop calling me Quackity, I fucking hate it when you say it. It feels like a slur in your mouth. Call me..”<br/>
He marked a pause, looking in the other’s eye for an appropriate name. The duck almost looked like he used to, when they would share an evening while they had a good relationship. They would just sit there on the balcony of the white house, actually talking about anything that wasn’t work related, a bottle in hand. Off duty, Quackity sure was one of the funniest men he met, ranting about how he got banned from a roblox server, his name being censored as a swear word. That quickly went downhill. In one evening watch in hand.<br/>
“-Honey, love, bee, whatever suits you loverboy.”<br/>
What was that supposed to mean ? Schlatt connected the two sentences but that doesn’t mean he understood them. What ? Quackity wanted him to confess his undying love for his person while the dude was torturing him or some shit ? That’s fucked up. Again, not a sign that his stay at the prison was going to be a fun playdate. He breathed out a remark, inhaling and exhaling noisily.<br/>
“-I don’t get how that’s better than calling your name. If I recall you hated it when I said those types of words.<br/>
-This time it’s different. You’ll see how it is to not be the one in charge anymore. All you can do is wait for me, beg for me, obey me and get punished. I get to choose how you look or what you eat, anything that can make you realise how powerless you are. How powerful I am. What a shit nobody you are, not even what I'd dare to call a person.”<br/>
On the feeding bit, Quackity still hasn't filled that part yet and the hunger he felt was a nice reminder that even before his fall from presidency, he took very little to no care toward his body. Barely consuming anything else than booze, painkillers or smoke, sometimes embellished with energy drinks and coffee. So that’s why his body was going ape shit. And all it took to make him realise was being weaned for a few days. Great.<br/>
Not to mention the concerning power trip Quackity was currently showing. Not even a person ? Quackity had the right to be pissed, angry and maybe revengeful, Schlatt did some shitty stuff, the worst he ever did was executing Tubbo, which is a lot. But he was still a person. In all honesty, there wasn’t a lot to excuse him here. Yeah, he was a shit person. But as stated, a person.<br/>
The duck brought him back by patting his chin with his free hand, an amused look across his face.<br/>
“-I’m not here to entertain you buddy. But let’s see what you’ve got.”<br/>
Quackity finally let go of his horn to pull the lever. The gears clicked together, the restraints retracting themselves to put his arms back to where they were a few hours ago, in the kneeling position.<br/>
“-Please, don’t leave me like that again, I can’t take it for another two days I’ll- I won’t<br/>
-You will shut up, first. You’re being annoying. Then, if you’re a good little sheep it won’t happen.”<br/>
The winged man placed his hand on Schlatt’s back, earning a shiver due to the cold skin against his bare spine. He slowly let it slide around the shape of the powerless man to collide with the belt of his pants. In response, the ram hybrid trashed in his chains. Was Quackity about to touch him like that ? He was angry at him, he had him cornered, he was all mighty but was he stepping that low ? That was scary. Was he capable of it ? He looked like it. The belt unbuckled, the hand slipped between the fabric and the skin, continuing to move downward. Schlatt was stone frozen there.<br/>
The hand found what it was looking for, warping around his tail.<br/>
“-Aha ! I knew you had one !”<br/>
The breath of relief that washed over him relaxed him in Quackity’s hold. So that’s what he was looking for. Nothing else, right ? Just his fluffy little ram tail that he kept hidden in his pants, clearly not willing to let it wiggle freely like he had some sort of feelings or softness.<br/>
A little “Jesus Christ” left his lips before the man in a beanie yanked his appendage up. It’s an extension of his spine, not a toy, it hurts !<br/>
“-Shit man, it’s sensitive.<br/>
-I know, I have one too.”<br/>
What ? Quackity also had a fluffy little duck tail in his pants ? That would be adorable if he wasn’t unzipping his pants right now. Schlatt starts thrashing again, it was already cold here, he didn’t need to be more naked.<br/>
The only comforting thought he could find was that he apparently got to keep his underwear for now. Apart from the obvious fact that his warden wasn’t touching him anymore.<br/>
Not giving a flying fuck about his prisoner’s goosebumps, Quackity began to play with his tail a bit, testing Schlatt’s reactions. He didn’t like it. His appendage flickered and thrashed at being twisted and pulled under the other’s cackling.<br/>
The Mexican withdrew his hand, grabbing a fistful of messy hair to push his head backward. Schlatt offered no resistance, his eyes vaguely opened. He wasn’t as in shape as he tried to appear. Quackity let himself stare at the man beneath him. He looked in pain, and probably was. He had a slow unsteady breath from the cold, the blow and the tiredness. To the hybrid, it was beautiful, seeing the man he loved to hate with cold sweat on his face making his hair stick to his forehead, the eyebags that deepened as days passed, the curly and greasy hair that made heavy knots around the strong horns. He wanted oh so much to break them. To break them along with Schlatt legs so he couldn’t go anywhere out of his grasp, to break his fingers to incapacitate his little plaything. Break his signature horns. That would break ***him***.<br/>
The duck retrieved a bottle from his inventory. Schlatt glanced at it expectantly, hoping for more water but his expression shifted to genuine apprehension promptly. The light green mixture was a clear threat that Quackity held with a sharp grin.<br/>
“-Please..”</p><p>Oh he loved the way the ram’s lips moved while begging him. It was soft. One of the softest things he ever said to the man. The bittersweet reflection sent chilled excitation down his spine. With his teeth, he decapsulates the bottle and brings it to Schlatt’s mouth. Quackity ordered the man to open up, pulling at his hair hard enough to make him grimace, parting his lips.<br/>
The lid collides with his teeth but the liquid still pours inside, a good part of itl sliding down his chin. Choking on it, the ram opens his mouth and gags.<br/>
“-Drink it or I’ll choke you with your own belt, pussy.”<br/>
A portion of the potion spills over but the rest goes down directly into the poor man’s empty stomach. The lever was pulled down and sent the man to the floor with a fleshy *thud*<br/>
Schlatt was already in a terrible state, his body barely holding him together now being reduced to his weakest. The mess between Quackity’s hand gurgling unintelligibly and drooling as he felt his insides burn up. Against the cold stone, Schlatt contort and sweat and choke on himself, he wanted to puke, his throat closing up, blocking both air and liquid. A hand was clutching the duck’s shirt, holding onto it for comfort ? grounding ? desperation ? His eyes pleaded for some type of rescue, anything. He was dying there ! Everything was slipping out of him, a ghostly feeling running between his fingers that he couldn't catch.<br/>
Quackity strokes his hair nicely, acting as if a man wasn’t agonizing at his knees. The drool running down his cheeks, his eyes rolled back and the final long arch that twisted Schlatt spine before he fell limp and remained immobile were near enough to send him over the edge. Oh he was still alive there. The heat left his body to replace it with the now familiar cold, biting at his limbs now that all his defenses were rendered unusable, his sparkle of life fafing quickly. The vice initiates massaging the ram’s chest, more and more promptly until a breath from beyond the grave eventually breaks out past trembling lips, soon followed by others, feeble but steady.<br/>
“-It’s okay Schlatt, it’s okay. Breath, calm yourself.”<br/>
Rubbing the hybrid’s torso, Quackity whispers sweet nothing, waiting for the other man to settle down, giving him time before carrying him to the so-called mattress. Schlatt offers very little reaction, faintly cracking his eyes open when scooped up and producing throaty noises in his delirium, otherwise being dead weight.<br/>
The winged man nudges the lessened man’s shoulder asking him to stay awake a few seconds more before bringing the lid of a bottle to his lips. Schlatt really doesn’t want to drink anything coming from the man, especially now that he’s cramped, barely able to bring a hand to his stomach before even thinking to sooth it. He feels frozen to the core, stripped from all sensation apart from his aching middle and the uncomfortable cold sweat covering him, accumulating on his forhead. Quackity manages a few little sips into the ram’s throat before giving up, Schlatt’s too exhausted and unresponsive, just awkwardly shifting in his arms, twisting his head dimly away from the bottle.<br/>
The duck hybrid sets down the bottle to just quietly stroke the ram’s fuzzy ears, knowing it’s pretty effective to appease someone. In no time, Schlatt’s back to sleep, looking strained and burnt out. He ujst went scaringly close to loosing a life there. 
So Quackity stays. Rubbing the soft furr, rocking back and forth, studying the man's state, making sure he wouldn't pass away in the next minutes. He wouldn't last long at that speed but that's a problem for another day.

“-See you tomorrow, Schlatt.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Two nights and a soup</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>All he has left to do is some unwanted introspection, waiting for Quackity to come have his fun with him. Funny moment.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Some events started to get lost in time. He couldn’t remember the chronological order of the following days. He tried to make sense of it but it blurred together. Maybe the events were mixed up, multiple things happening at the same time. Or maybe nothing happened for days. Or was it regular ? For the bits that were clear, none of them were remotely good. He couldn’t even bring himself to arrange them from not too bad to pure hell. Making a god damned tier list of his jail time was not in his capabilities.</p><p>He remembers he had all the time in the word for some fucking unwelcomed introspection. So let’s rewind and see how everything went to fuck. </p><p> </p><p>That night started badly. It was 13 years ago. Not the night, that must have been only a few weeks ago, months probably. But why he was almost passed out drunk alone at the balcony. Right, he was drunk that night because of something he did 13 years ago. </p><p>He felt dumb. So utterly stupid that he didn’t make sense. He would have laughed if he wasn’t also that numb. He knew he had a reason, he knew it made sense too. But the vague reflection from the streetlamp on his glass made him puzzled on that thought. Nothing could be a valid answer. His glass felt unreal. It made more sense that he was in fact in bed in a deafening silence rather than here. He was equally alone in both situations but the bed made more sense. </p><p>A hand pulled him out of his confusion. He was definitely on the balcony. That was Quackity in front of him. That made sense. Or not. Schlatt couldn't find an answer for why the duck was here. The fact that they both lived here wasn’t enough. His thoughts were losing him here. What the fuck’s heppening and why nothing felt like it was there? Was he hallucinating ? There’s nobody in front of him. But someone’s touching him.<br/>“-Schlatt ? Can you hear me ?<br/>-Quackity..”<br/>That’s definitely someone. He was here. It was almost true. <br/>“-You don’t look so good.<br/>-Why are you here ?<br/>-Hey I’m just checking on you. Whatcha doing here anyway ? You celebrating something ?”</p><p> </p><p>He was drunk but he couldn’t feel it. He couldn’t feel himself and didn’t know if he was about to pass out or run to the end of the county. Quackity was here, he could hear him and talk to him but couldn’t understand what he said. Maybe himself wasn’t there. </p><p>Quackity drank with him, talking and smiling. He couldn’t remember what he responded to him only seconds after saying it. <br/>He wanted to go away. Maybe after sleep he could sort this out. Why was he here in the first place ?<br/>Did his vice-president make a move toward him ? His hand was on his arm. He was leaning toward him. </p><p>He zoned out. <br/>He remembers that night. But he’s afraid to finish that memory. </p><p>What happened ?<br/>He fucked his vice the night he abandoned his son along with himself 13 years ago while drunk and in the middle of a weird episode. Grand slam.<br/>That’s not it, of course. </p><p>Quackity was furious in the morning. According to him, Schlatt abused his position of power to overtake him while the young man was drunk. <br/>He had no idea if that was true. In his memories, Quackity was consenting and was the one that initiated it, maybe he wasn’t. Plus, between the two, Schlatt was way more drunk than he was. But yes, he was the one in power, it was his responsibility he supposed. It made sense. </p><p>He thought he remembered the events after the discussion correctly, blurry on the edges yet sensical but maybe not. Dissociation can cause memory loss but he had no idea if it could alter it.</p><p>Sure having a one night thing with his vice was a bad idea itself but oh boy did that backfired. That led Schlatt to think that it was his fault. He apologized and tried to make up for it but to no avail. The somewhat friendship they shared was over and Quackity hated him.<br/>Whatever. </p><p>Shortly after that the ram was constantly in a second state, between too much booze and too much meds. Why was he taking them in the first place ? If he couldn’t remember then it wasn’t important, migraines maybe ? But that fucked him up for sure. Nausea, vomitings, hard breathing. Probably addiction on top of that but that’s not uncommon in his lifestyle. How-<br/>How did it happen so fast ? When elected he wasn’t such a waste. How did he end up like that ?</p><p>He started drinking more coffee and energy drinks to complete his work. The workload left him stressed to a bundle of nerves that he sometimes let explode onto his cabinet’s members. So he started alcohol again. He didn’t eat correctly. And that’s how it went downhill. </p><p>Now that he was dead sober, he couldn’t help the introspection, as hard as he wanted to avoid it. </p><p>There wasn’t much to say about Fundy. Why the hybrid was so worked up by his furry jokes was a mystery but whatever. The kid did his work and that was good enough. </p><p>Quackity was a good ally at the beginning. Having him by his sides was a noteworthy help. Plus he was funny and everyone liked him. Then of course he fucked up and even looking at him was painful. The duck hybrid would glare at him and spit his words. That was great to say the least.<br/>And Tubbo was a fucking child that was terrified of him that he had made executed by his own brother because he was a traitor or because he couldn’t bear to look at him either. <br/>God why didn't they shoot him in the van ? </p><p>Tubbo is a kid. Sure, he was mature for his age and very capable. But a kid nonetheless. He was a ram hybrid too and around his son’s age. That hurts. It would hurt to imagine his son in Tubbo’s place coz God would he hate to put him in the teenager’s place. War, treason, responsibility, that isn’t supposed to be a childhood. <br/>He couldn’t see a single of his accomplishments. If he had any. He probably did. <br/>Why did he do that to a child ? How on earth, even fucking wasted, could one think for a single second that executing a fucking kid was “making a point” ? </p><p> </p><p>The metallic door opened. Cool, Quackity was here to occupy him. Cool. <br/>Weaning was painful as fuck.</p><p>The duck hybrid was pissed. Then again, not groundbreaking. <br/>He shifted from his position, being curled up in a corner. It was the best position he could find to keep as much warmth as possible, the chill cell not exactly being floor heated. </p><p>Quackity had something in his hand, a bowl and a spoon. Was he finally feeding him ? It must have been a week now from the fall of Manburg but it’s the first time the young man actually brought food with him. He would give him water almost every day though. <br/>Schlatt started to understand why Quackity said about being entirely dependent on him as the whole that was his stomach poked at his sides. </p><p> </p><p>The uninterested expression of the duck hybrid turned into a smug as he met the hopeful eyes of his prisoner. <br/>Schlatt was lowkey wondering if Quackity was sadic enough to just eat in front of him and leave. He could. </p><p>“-Hungry ? I understand. You look wrecked. But first, if you want to receive anything today, you’ll have to do some extra work. Get up.”<br/>He ram stood up. His head wasn’t too happy with that, his vision going spicy while his stomach turned. He was still capable of standing up. He isn’t that *weak*. By standing he meant that he was resting his weight on the wall, hunched over his legs, struggling to stay up.<br/>Quackity set the bowl down and walked to the taller man, searching for something in his pocket. With his other hand, he grabbed Schlatt’s shoulder to make him turn around. </p><p>“-Put the blindfold back on.”<br/>The piece of fabric was still there, from day 2-3 to day probably-around-seven. Fidgeting with it became a habit since there wasn’t much else to do. Rolling it between his fingers brought stimulation and comfort, sorta. <br/>He put it on, fighting a bit with his fluffy ears in the way. Not being able to see is scary. You’re there, not knowing if there’s someone to backstab you, a rug that wasn’t there before to make you fuck up your little toe and you face on the ground, or you could eat a not high enough doorframe. Step on the cat and lose a leg or something. There wasn’t even a way to mentaly prepare for what's gonna hit you. The “what” being a cut on the butt. What. the. actual. fuck. </p><p> </p><p>Why is every action of Quackity so fucking surreal ? Couldn’t he be a normal jailor and just idk hit him with a stick and feed him rotten flesh ? No he needed to blindfold the man, get out his pocket knife and cut through the only piece of cloth he still had to mutilate his ass calling that “extra work”. Fucking hell. <br/>He cursed while his knees buckled. That’s sensitive. That fucking stung.</p><p> </p><p>Quackity lifted him up by the arm asking him to be cooperative. He sliced him again. He was doing it so casually, like it was no big deal. He did it again and again as he pleased. Schlatt didn't shut it, cursing, squeaking, trying to wressle only for Quackity to press him against the wall, his flanks shivering under the cold stone. <br/>The pain watered his eyes. The wet feeling of blood falling along his legs. He wouldn’t be able to sit any more. His only focus was not to give Quackity the satisfaction of hearing him bleating a second time. His last piece of clothing being ruined was already humiliating enough without even pointing out the fact that his ass was being butchered in thin slices. </p><p>Quackity slurred to his ears everything he would hate to hear. Nothing that he didn’t know, but nothing easy to hear. He talked about how he treated him, how he treated all of them. Why Fundy was so attacked by his comments -how could he not realise sooner ?, how he neglected every person he had under his authority without care, letting them work their ass off to burn out while he was getting drunk, how he would become violent and hurtful while intoxicated, how he failed every promises he made to this country, how his power was venom to his surroundings, too blinded by pride and hate directed at everyone and everything like the fucking air was at fault for his actions. That and everything else. He deserved absolutely nothing back then, just using selfishly good people and bring them pain freely. </p><p> </p><p>His body slumps to the floor, Quackity taking back his hands, ready to leave. Would this be his life ? Just wait for Quackity to show up, beat him up a bit then leave him with his thoughts. </p><p>Would- would the rest of Manburg- or L’Manburg now he supposed- let Quackity do that ? They didn’t like him but- <br/>He guessed that was it. </p><p> </p><p>He curled up on his knees, feeling the cuts on fire. The humiliation of the act wasn’t nearly as painful as the excruciating pain he felt burning on his skin. <br/>His head was resting on his forearms, panting, even if he wanted, he couldn’t move. Taking a glimpse at Quackity exiting the cell, lifting the fabric with shaky fingers, he just broke. </p><p>The thought of the food long gone, he allowed himself to cry, to sob until exhaustion. Which wasn’t far behind. He was useless, his body was useless. Okay, he got it, Quackity made his point, he was worthless and yet, why did it feel like only the beginning of his torment ? A lot bleat escaped his sore throat.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Milk</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Quackity nearly kills Schlatt with a common cold and some milk.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Use of it/its pronouns by Quackity toward Schlatt. </p><p>I honestly don't know if you guys will like it since it's a tad bit gross. And sorry for the wait. </p><p>TW : force feeding, vomiting, near death experience. uuuh dehumanisation ?</p><p>Don't mind the summary-</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Quackity was a sick bastard. He didn’t feed him regularly, in fact, he fed him once, the day he poisoned him, but since then, nada, quechi, just throwing a splash potion in his vague direction once or twice, barely letting him drink, only to come back with a gallon of milk and force it down his throat. His stomach didn’t like the experience. The abused organ had spent the last days shrinking on himself, ready to self digest, making Schlatt cramped, absorbed by the way his guts folded on themselves.<br/>
Spending most of the time face on the mattress, hoping to ease the pain in his lower back. </p><p>He was so cold. Days were a hazy slug, time melting, in and out of consciousness. His immune system was already wrecked before so catching a cold or something to that effect wasn’t a surprise, especially after he got poisoned. He was so weak, hungry, sick. Alternating between nauseous, starved, burning hot, freezing. He was just miserable. Quackity had put him in the stress position for half a day at some point, it was so bad. He barfed some bile, passed out even standing, bleating.</p><p> </p><p>And then this fucking duck had to come and stretch his organ way past its diminished capacities. His poor attempts at pleading Quackity to stop unheard and his fighting way too feeble to do anything. It took quite some time to get it all down, waiting for the stomach to settle between each long gulp, Quackity tracing some large motions with his hand across his prisoner's belly. The touch made him sick to the core, eyeing with concern the growing bugle in the man’s pants. What the hell was even turning him on ? </p><p>It cramped, he gagged regularly, crying his eyes out with the little remaining tears he could gather. The water spilled out after a particularly hard gulp forced down, after Quackity tilted the bottle high for too long, choking the man, milk flooding his air canals.<br/>
The bottle eventually went down his gullet, liquid spilled on himself, a bit bit in his lungs, the rest in his insides. Schlatt felt so heavy, cold sweating in his bed. The mere thought of moving his tummy made him want to vomit everything. After the hybrid helped him lay back down on the mattress he pressed a hand at his side, effectively feeling the skin being so taught, stretched out, bulging out. It was perverted. Things only got worse from then, the lactose fighting the drained stomach. Quackity just layed there, his head a few inches from Schlatt’s abdomen, lazily drawing soothing motions with his palm. It did nothing to sooth him.</p><p> </p><p>The ram didn’t want him to touch his abused midsection however it was no use. He bleated in pain, animalistic noises slipping from his lips.<br/>
This stomach ache was worse than the poison potion he had to engulf a few days ago, by a lot. Nausea pricked in his upper half, blurring his vision, obstructing his earring, barely perceiving anything other than hurt. He felt Quackity pressing butterfly kisses on his swollen tummy, breathing praises more at his middle rather than himself.<br/>
“-You’re so perfect”, “you look beautiful tonight”, “I can’t take my eyes off of you.”</p><p>What kind of weird ass kink was this shit ? He was about to barf everything on him but apart from that, the duck seemed so content with himself.<br/>
Quackity listened closely to every noise the organ tried to make, gurgling, bloated and upset, relishing Schlatt’s grunts and gasps. The ram produced small burps, releasing the tiniest bit of pressure off of his swollen belly. His stare was so intense, focused, adoring even. Everything was so sick.</p><p>“-Hu-hurts please s-ss-sto-<br/>
-Shush, you’re doing so good, it’s okay.<br/>
-I’m begging you please, plea-plea-”<br/>
Quackity only ushered him softly, feeling the intestines churn under his palm.<br/>
He was going to die, he had to. He felt so cold, so feverish, so burning up inside, rocks crushing his insides, every little touch sending a stabbing cramp across his tortured tummy. He couldn’t, he couldn’t</p><p> </p><p>He barfed everything up, drowning in the milk, his head throbbing. His consciousness left for mere seconds, waking up with his forehead on the floor, weakly heaving white liquid, his face, body and bed covered in it.<br/>
Quackity had placed his hand on his back, tracing circles on the covered in sweat skin. He didn’t expect Schlatt to keep it down, hell, he did not expect him to finish the gallon in the first place.<br/>
There was no way his insides were not damaged, they had to. He felt the pain shift from stabbing to some sort of second hand pain, still burning, stinging, just less sharp and more dull, like his body had trouble comprehending it. </p><p>His limp body layed there, panting, pressed against the cold floor. He still felt dying. His eyes saw blurry blue, going darker. His panting slowed, everything became more silent. His hands tapped the floor, splashing a bit of milk on his face. He heard nothing. He tried again. His eyelids grew closer. He felt cold, alone, slipping. </p><p>Silence growing louder.<br/>
Feelings easing away.<br/>
Finally</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Quackity saw its light fading. Not yet. No, it’s not going to lose a life. It was way too soon. **This** was meant to last.<br/>
He pours a potion of healing on its head, then a potion of regeneration. Schlatt gave no reaction. But it was still breathing. The vice made it roll on its back, settling it on the bed.<br/>
Okay, now he wasn’t too sure it was going to survive. Maybe he went a bit too far. </p><p>The man was already as good as dead when he got it so yes, perhaps it needed to die to feel a bit better, be as good as new and ready to take some more. No. Not today, make it last, make it long.<br/>
Petting it’s hair, he lets it rest. He’ll go easy the next few days. Give it some potion. Make it ready for what he had planned. Oh this was going to be so good. The ram won’t see it coming. The ram won’t get up from this.<br/>
The duck hybrid will stay at its side for the night, making sure it stays alive, pouring another potion, just in case.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Please tell  me f I should do more like these (probably in like OS, not in this story in particular, perhaps the serie tho) </p><p>and I'll soon drop a story from the point of view of Tubbo :)</p><p>  IMPORTANT NB I REPEAT IMPORTANT NB<br/>okay and about the non con elements with what happened between Schlatt and Quackity: schlatt thought he had Quackity's consent, but that doesn't make Quackity feels invalid. I know that I portray Quackity's reaction to be maybe a bit uh... extreme but I'm in no way saying that because he is a tad bit not in his right mind and doing some real not okay shit, what happened is his fault. No. </p><p>Plus the non con elements that are happening now are Quakity forcing his kinks and deliriums on Schlatt but with no.. penetration part ? don't think too much about it, I'm just not confortable writing good old penetration. So that doesn't happen. Canonically.</p><p>Thank you</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Three canon lives</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Act one fo Quackity's brilliant idea. <br/>Schlatt is full of regrets. <br/>His jailtime is coming to an end. One way or another.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He was alive. He survived the night. Quackity left before he woke up, leaving some water for him in a bucket. <br/>He wished he didn’t. Now he has to live the next day, feeling like shit, hardly moving, hurting no matter the position, hungry, cold, so cold. Naked in a chill cell, now covered in vomit.</p><p>But what if he died ? He’d wake up here, on the bed, now with the fear that the next death will be the last. It’s not like they would let him go after his first death. He’ll rot here. They don’t want him out, they let Quackity do his thing, that proves how little they care, they probably think he deserved this. And even if he did, yes perhaps he does, that does not make his suffering any less painful. <br/>If he got out…</p><p>If he got out :<br/>He’d fly so far away, he’d never have to face those people that he hurt so badly, whose lives he marked forever, scarring them with long lasting issues. Away from Quackity. He wouldn’t have to bear all the eyes, hold their stares, feel the chills along his spine as he would be in their eyesight. <br/>He’d apologize to everyone. He’d apologize so much, over and over, from the bottom of his heart, all the regrets, tell them how much they deserve better, promise all the changes, the actions he’s ready to take, all the efforts he wants to put to repair, make them smile. Not make them forgive, that’s not the point, it wouldn’t be conceivable. See them better, see them going on with their lives but weightless, without him. <br/>He’d make himself as small as possible, he’d never cause harm to anyone, ever. No one will ever suffer from his addictions, his cruelty, this wall he built against everyone. “Hurt them before they can hurt you, they won’t bite you if they fear your boot.”, Or he’ll never think that they all deserve it. Making his pain destroying everything and everyone for.. nothing. Nothing. It never made him feel better, only lied to himself. </p><p>All he did was for nothing.</p><p>All he did was for nothing. </p><p> </p><p>What… was the point ? <br/>He went homeless, he executed a teen, he scared away all his cabinet members, any “friends” he could possibly have, he ruined himself, he ruined a country, exiled another teen with a mad man, and as for his son...</p><p> </p><p>Now they had L’Manburg back, now they are at peace. Why was Tubbo the president and not Wilbur he didn’t know but maybe the latter needed some time to recover from his exile madness. </p><p>It must be so peaceful outside. L'Manburg is full of people that cherished the country, full of people that cherished each other. All back to how things were, enjoying the rest they deserved. They must be so happy. Wilbur had his country back. Tubbo and Tommy had each other. They didn’t have him. No more tyran, no more alcohol filled atmosphere, no more yelling. Just peace. <br/>Without him. </p><p> </p><p>Him. He had..his thoughts. His loneliness, his regrets, the cold, the grief, nothing, Quackity.<br/>He’ll never see his son again. He probably never was going to before. But now, it’s best to just not have hope. It would just hurt more. And hurting enough he was. <br/>They would be laughing. All of them. Look at him, in the corner of the cell, all curled up like a baby afraid of a tiny spider, shivering, crying, frail, exhausted, hurting, sobbing, whining, bleating. </p><p>Ha ha. <br/>Funny Schlatt. </p><p>That would probably be the first time he’d make them laugh. <br/>That’s not the way he’d like it to be. <br/>If only there was someone, anyone. They wouldn't have to give him anything, not even a word, not even a glance. Just someone. A warming presence. </p><p> </p><p>He’ll never see his son again. <br/>He had so many regrets, so many. <br/>It hurts to think that maybe it was the right thing to do. Look at him. What would he have ever given to that kid ? He was happier wherever he was. Far more than he could have ever been with the rat shit man he was. <br/>What he’d give to hold his tiny frame one last time. To know the man he had become. Just know he was safe and sound. </p><p> </p><p>Stop. Fucking stop reminicing. You are as good as dead. Stop thinking. Accept that this is what you will have for forever. <br/>Yes cry if you want to. Whatever. Whiny bitch. </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Quackity felt so confident. It was going to be a triumph. The prologue was a success. And with everything going smoothly toward act one tonight, the act two promised so much. He was wriggling with impatience, his little tail wagging and wings twitching. <br/>Everything was going so well. </p><p>He needed to be inconspicuous, that was the only reason why he was not skipping his way into the prison. <br/>He had his time, he had Schlatt, he had his weapons, and all the guts he needed. Tonight was going to be astounding. </p><p>The winged man passed his head through the metallic door. Without surprise, Schlatt was there, pale as a ghost, scaringly thin, covered in filth. <br/>Quackity could not repress a stim of excitement, shaking a hand. He smirked :<br/>“-Oooh Schlaaat~”</p><p> </p><p>His body was yanked forward to the middle of the room. His arms were back to that T-pose that he had to endure for so long. Apprehension was bubbling up. May the vice have mercy tonight.<br/>“-Quacki-<br/>-Don’t. call. me. like. that.”<br/>He marked a pause between all his words to emphasize his point. He glanced at the hybrid, crouching at his level.<br/>“-You never fucking learn do you ?”<br/>He had groped his waist, squeezing the flesh in his hand, earning a plaint from his prisoner. </p><p>The duck hybrid returned to the lever to turn a rotary button on the side of it, hardly noticeable on the wall. Schlatt felt his restraints being pulled further to the side, out spreading his arms, tearing them apart. The pressure went higher and higher on his poor shoulders as Quackity turned the button. The former president pleaded with the other man to stop, feeling his arms being ripped off of him. </p><p>“-Please Love please STOP they’re going to break I’m sorry- Don’t”<br/>His ramble fell into deaf ears, his captor enjoying it way too much. A smile from one ear to another, his eyes crazed, sucking in every word the pathetic man in front of him uttered. His muscles were being stretched past their limit menacing to snap. He let the man plead and pant and suffer a bit more before turning the button to a bearable level, still leaving it just enough to make the other man wince and whine. </p><p>“-I learned I learned I’m sorry.<br/>-Not yet honey bee. I said it was going to stay. We’re just beginning here !<br/>-Please no, don’t-”<br/>Quackity shushed him softly, putting a hand to his cheeks, fingers ghosting over his mouth. </p><p>He pulled the lever down, to give Schlat the ability to move back, relieving his limbs. The said man let his arms fall to his sides, finding troubles trying to move them. <br/>The winged man returned to the ram for a final time. He put the man down to the ground harshly, pushing his shoulders down without any gentleness left. Once the other on his back, he placed his knee on the former president’s chest, reaching for something in his pocket, his knife. </p><p>“-Listen, tonight, is a special night. Leave it all to me, you won’t forget this. I’m telling you.”<br/>The duck hybrid began his fastidious work. His blade traced its lines, made its way and its arabesques on the ram’s skin. </p><p>Quackity meticulously cut lines after lines, beginning with Schlatt’s strained arms, moving down on its torso, its belly, its thighs. One, two, ten, twenty, fifty, one hundred. He couldn't make enough. He needed more. More of the ram’s frantic screams, shrieking of agony. He was so perfect, the crimson covering his broken body, flooding, mixing with the dried milk, white and red dancing on the cobble floor. </p><p>He fought him at first. Kicking, yelling, pleading, quickly turning to a twitching mess under the L’Manburgian. Spasming, choking with his tears, pathetically whimpering. <br/>Quackity was shaking, he wanted more. He felt the man under him with his hand, stroking his skin, painfully moving his fingers on the countless cuts. Schlatt produced violent jerks as the bird touched his wounds. He caressed its waist, going up its chest, digits slipping in a particularly deep cut, to feel the inside. Schlatt’s insides. His work.</p><p> </p><p>“-Now, only now you are allowed to die.”<br/>The rapidly flailing man’s eyes widened, his breath shuddering. No. His strength left him, he couldn’t comprehend the pain he felt, he was.. he was dying. Now it felt too real. He didn’t want to, no like this, not here, please no, no, No</p><p>Everything slowed down, his eyes saw Quackity moving, reaching for his head, he felt nothing, he was freezing, the same feeling of nothingness, loneliness and absolute despair from yesterday filled him. He was truly dying. His last sight was Quackity looking down on him, speaking unintelligible words to his ears. </p><p>Finally, his last breath left him, washing on the duck’s face. Everything fading into cold and dark nothingness. The icy arms of death hugged him, the feeling familiar. It was falling backward into a pool filled with void, his consciousness floating between stars while his body prepared for his final life. Slowly, with unsease. Death could only do so much for regeneration. The magic began, wrapping the corpse in a warmer embrace.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>To all the people that left a comment, I love you dearly :]</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Cold shower</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Tubbo visits Philza, in needs of answers. Inevitably, he'll have to talk to Schlatt. <br/>This is very not what he expected. He asked for security for his people, not this. </p><p>And who's best qualified to help ?</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Das is long.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Not that you would care, but today was actually not the best. I smashed my communicator by just falling to the ground. Also destroyed my knees and elbows there.<br/>But ya know, like a Tuesday. <br/>Wanted to tell you for quite some time now, but could you gently fuck off ?<br/>Not my best phrasing there but I 'm pretty sure it conveys the spirit. You've been missing for like 10 years and yet you still can't stay the fuck away. <br/>I want you to leave me the fuck alone. I don't need you, I don't want you. Why are you still fucking hovering around me ? </p><p>That little voice, you know that voice, I think we all have it, the one who won't allow you to have a simple thought in peace and will always throw at you why you're wrong, how what you do is stupid, what you think is naive and the rest is complete trash. <br/>Sometimes it's just a voice of course, that's the point of a voice, I'm not stupid thank you very much stop now. But you know sometimes it's someone. For quite some time it was Philza not gonna lie, sometimes the others. But for the longest time it's you. It's fucking you telling me all day every day how I should pay more attention to how my horns look cranky, asymetric, out of place. I'm not even sure how they're suppose to look like, cause you're the only one who could fucking know. <br/>How you remind me that I'm just a little racoon thriving off of people's back, how I'll probably fuck it up coz everyone seems to think that I'm a very capable human being but I still somehow fail to tie my laces, how I spill my milk on the way to the sink, thinking my bowl is empty but no it's not coz I'm careless and clearly not able to pay attention to the simplest and dumbest of stuff. Yeah I know I look like a fool dressed like that. I know that when I smile sometimes one of my eyes goes in the wrong direction. I know that I still struggle to write the most basic shit. </p><p>I know, i fucking know I'm the only one on the god forsaken server with the devil's horns on top of my hair that needs an haircut and some conditioner coz I also noticed my split ends thank you very much.<br/>That's why I'm asking you to shut the fuck up. I don't know you, you don't know me, I don't even know how you look. You're just some blue hooded stranger with perfect shaped horns I suppose, with perfect posture and an incompetent coz don't think I'm the only one who's wrong. I know that when I speak to an adult, I'm automatically wrong. Like I know I will be wrong coz I'm some sort of kid with unrealistic views and naive ideas coz the world is shit or some stuff like that coz the adult worlds is so fucking depressing. <br/>And you are that adult world that gave up on me and who dares to dictate what's my problem. <br/>I don't owe you anything, you dont' have to stay, coz you fucking left 10 years ago and if it wasn't for Philza I would have died like some random dog shit on the sideway. <br/>Fuck off."</p><p> </p><p>He was kinda pissed that day. Tubbo recalls that moment clearly. Him writing some letters to his biological dad was common, when he needed to aimlessly vent in some way, not caring for his writing eloquence, his handwriting or his language. It doesn't matter if it had the power to give an English teacher a heart attack. He didn't even bother finishing this one, just making a paper ball to scrunch until his calm settled back. He never was someone to lash out on someone, or he liked to think he wasn't. This was a good way to cope. *He* wouldn't care anyway. </p><p>Some of the letters would be disposed of in some way -the river, the fireplace, the bin- the others were stored in an old shoe box in his closet. He trusted his family not to read them. Some were sad, some angry, some nostalgic, it doesn't matter, it's his garden not some elaborate pamphlet. </p><p> </p><p>The president -gosh did this title felt wrong as he was just a kid with some now far gone shoe box sitting in the tiniest corner of his room, half buried under some clothes hanging over his head- came to his old house with the need for some sort of comfort and tangible answers. <br/>In his closet, there also laid some other memories, the one which mattered the most being his blue box. It's a funny box really, composed of an old cardboard cube hand painted in Tardis blue with little bees flying across it. At the bottom, what used to be a pillow but resembled more of an old dry wood plank than something you would like to rest your head on. The rest was composed of old memories. Some photo albums from his first years at the Minecraft's, old trophies from his adventures with Tommy when the backyard was the most daring place to explore. Simpler times. This box was the one he was found on, by the side of the road now 13 years ago. In it laid all his stuff from back then. His clothes, his drawings, one or two toys, a letter and a photo, the rest being unnoteworthy. </p><p>The letter and the photo were the reason for his visit. Tubbo knew he eventually would need to ask Philza for.. well a lot of things but this difficult conversation could wait. He needed some alone time with his mind and doubts. <br/>On his lap laid the letter, written by the father he wished he was good enough for, taunting him. He knew it pretty much by heart at this point. It's what you could honestly expect. "I'm sorry", "take care of him", "I hope you will be able to give him his best shot in life" some stuff you write before abandoning your child on the side way, as one should do. </p><p>The letter always made him feel numb. Like you could tell the person writing cared and was deeply mortified by their action but yet, here they were, absent. Why even pretending ?<br/>He cried too much on it for the paper to hold any meaning anymore. Tubbo was attached to it but felt like it lost its intent, just being some painful paper. </p><p>In each hand, he balanced two photos, the one he found in Schlatt's blazer and his own photo, the one he was found with. <br/>In his picture, he was in the arms of his dad, mindlessly smiling at the camera. His father's face, on the other hand, was out of the frame. The man was wearing a blue wool sweater, visibly caring some miles on it. He looked strong and confident, or maybe he was just happy in this photo. He was holding the kid securely yet gently, his arms seemed comfortable. His opinion was probably biased. He wondered how it felt, how it was. <br/>Tubbo was holding his bee plushie, brand new, some wrapping paper on his father’s lap. He concluded that the photo was taken on his birthday, perhaps his 4th.<br/>He wondered why the man put this photo there. He couldn’t be identified. Just a memory from the past to look back on ?</p><p>It didn't matter, he just needed some old photos of him, to compare him from Philza’s photos, and him from Schlatt’s and his dad’s pictures. <br/>The little boy sure as hell looked like him. </p><p> </p><p>He rummaged through his album photo, and yes, yes, it was him. He can’t deny it. He, yeah. It was him in the photo. <br/>So, that means..<br/>That means..</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“-Philza !”<br/>His calls bounce on the walls. A blonde head appeared behind the door, a kind smile on his lips. <br/>“-Yeah mate ? <br/>-Phil, do- uh can I talk to you about something that happened yesterday ?<br/>-Sure, you look upset. Something happened at work ? I know it must be hard. You can tell me everything you know.”</p><p>Now was surely the worst moment of all for this. Phil had murdered Will a very short time ago. The man was devastated. He smiled for Tubbo but the act was far less than convincing. *“Sup big man, found my dad. My real dad. I mean, not you. It’s Schlatt, ya know, who killed me, the alcoholic, ya know the man”*. Yeah no that won’t do. </p><p> </p><p>“-I.. I went to the prison, to see if everything was doing alright. Quackity seems to have control of the situation. It seemed fine. It’s just- I- uh. So Schlatt had his jacket off and I kinda got it. I don’t know why and I- I- it’s complicated okay, don't get upset it’s okay. I found this in his pocket. Don’t be upset; please.<br/>-It’s okay kid, it’s okay. No need to freak out. Let me see.”</p><p>The winged man gently took the photo with his two hands. His somewhat calm expression stilled. <br/>“-You found this on Schlatt ?”<br/>Tubbo nodded. Yeah. The blue hoodied stranger, the man that carried a little ram in his arm, that wrote that letter, that painted the box blue. Schlatt. His</p><p> </p><p>“-I can’t believe it. It’s.. surreal. <br/>-Yeah. I don’t know what to feel. Schlatt… is a horrible man, did terrible things. To the list we can now add “leaving kids on the side of the road, then many years later, murder them.” It doesn’t look good on the curriculum. But.. he’s my- well perhaps he’s my “progenitor” let’s say. What do I do ? Does he know ? I mean he is literally in my prison. I can go and just.. ask him for all it’s gonna coast. Just let him be a little bit more sober and in a proper mindset. Perhaps I will be able to get something from him. And after… after I don’t know.”<br/>His eyes land on Philza. Catching something in the man’s expression. </p><p>“-Big man, he’ll never replace you. I’ll never forget everything you did for me, for all those years. <br/>-I know, I know. I get it, it’s normal. You want answers, you want closure. I won’t get jealous of Schlatt. I’ll be fine with whatever relationship you’ll decide to have with this man. If you decide you want one. <br/>-I don’t know yet. To be honest, just leaving him to rot there it’s… what is it going to do ? Not sure it’ll bring justice to L’Manburg. I don’t know. Make him work, make him repair, do something that makes sense. But he needs to sober up before we try to make him change and answer for his actions properly. L’Manburg deserves something better after all that happened. And I don’t know what place he will have in new L’Manburg. Worst case, we exile him impossibly far, and he won't be our problem anymore. Best case.. let’s not raise our hopes for his case. I just want to get my answers and I’ll improvise the rest. <br/>-Very well kid. You are.. handling it better that i thought you would. <br/>-No to be honest I’m lost. I’m waiting for everything to hit me in the face. I’m just- Can we change the subject and come back at it later ? Please ?<br/>-Sure kid. It’s time for dinner anyway.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p>Okay. There he is. It’s his prison, he can go. Really,  he has every right. And the key. And even a good reason to go in. If he passes that door, then that’s it, it’s real, he has to ask the man if he is- was- if he used to have a child. Maybe the timing is wrong. Imagine Schlatt was the same as he used to. Imagine the first steps he takes, the ram is going to throw acid to his face, tease him, remind him he’s no fit to be a president, and absolutely drop everything he’ll know hurts. At zero point does Tubbo expect to face a calm and collected man ready to have a formal talk as equal. It’s Schlatt we’re talking about. </p><p>Is it even possible to reason with the man ? </p><p>But enough tergiversation. </p><p>Tubbo presses the door open and gags at the odor emanating from the room. <br/>What the fuck ? </p><p>It smells like death in here, literally. </p><p>A very cold shower hits the president’s back as he peers inside. The floor is covered in blood and a white flaky substance. Did someone fucking die here ? <br/>Is this the right cell ? He asked Quackity to watch over the ram, NOT THIS !</p><p>And the smell. It’s suffocating. Everything that you could find disgusting gathered in a claustrophobic ill-ventilated space : sour milk, vomit, blood, piss, putrefaction. <br/>He doesn’t even want to look at the bed. The floor is largely enough. It’s more than enough. <br/>He’ll regret the vision. He slowly elevates his gaze toward the sleeping or dead form on the bed. </p><p> </p><p>He never ran faster.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>He dialed one of the first numbers he stumbled upon. <br/>“-Please, please I need help, don’t hang up i-  please don’t hung up please I need, I-<br/>-Tubbo ? Why of all people did you choose to call *me* ?”<br/>A stern voice answered. He was clearly annoyed. Yet, a hint of surprise filtered through the communicator. <br/>“-I don’t- I don’t, please Techno I please need- I-<br/>-Okay, calm down kid, I need you to breath. Otherwise I won't be able to understand why on the Overworld you called me. Breath !”<br/>The piglin had slightly raised his voice, catching the teen off guard. He focused on his breathing. <br/>“-Okay, tell me five thing you can see.<br/>-My-my hands, my hands. My shoes and the prime path. There’s- there’s a pig looking at me and one of Eret’s tow-towers.<br/>-Four things you can hear.<br/>-My own-my own breathing.My-my- there’s, there’s”<br/>Tubbo takes in quick breaths, eyes darting anywhere looking for an answer.<br/>“-Okay good, something else. <br/>-My heartbeat, uh you and, and there’s there’s”<br/>He taps his hoof on the ground.</p><p>“-That.<br/>-Uh… Okay. Imaginative. Three things you can touch.<br/>-My hands, my shirt, my hair.<br/>-Works. two things you can smell.<br/>-I-... i can still smell it Techno it was horrible the smell of something dead and all the- all the i can’t it’s- techno it’s -<br/>-Okay, it’s okay. You’re good. one thing you can taste.<br/>-I don’t- I don’t know Techno i-<br/>-It’s okay. Don’t pressure yourself with this. Can you explain what happened ? It’s okay.<br/>-Schlatt, he’s dead, he was, yeah he was dead.<br/>-Ain’t that… good ?”<br/> Techno wasn’t as good with this than Philza. He was trying to calm his brother down, still. He picked the phone, he hadn’t hung up and Tubbo was incredibly grateful for it.</p><p>“-No, it was, it was, I-  please I need help. Help me. I’ll explain everything, come. Please come.<br/>-Okay woaw kid. Man, I kinda uh blew up your country like not too long ago, not sure you remember. I think I’m kinda banned from L’Manburg. You’re kinda the new president of it, and I’m kind of an anarchist. Well, all and all, I think uuuuh no ? Why would I ? Why did you even call me in the first place ? <br/>-I don’t know, I don’t-  I panicked. I really need help. I’m sorry I panicked. I- please as a brother.  <br/>-Don’t you dare pull the brother card on me, Tubbo.”<br/>After everything that happened, yes perhaps it wasn’t the best move. But Mojang, what he’d give to have his brother’s support right now.  <br/>“-I know, I’m sorry. Can I meet you ? I’ll tell you everything.”<br/> He was lost, he didn’t know what to do. Tubbo don’t want to be alone with *that*, that problem. Techno’s support was indubitably one of the greatest help you could hope for. Even if you should be careful not to bungle with him. </p><p>“-You’re asking me to make a several hours long trip just so you can talk about the former tyrant, being the new one ?<br/>-If it wasn’t important I wouldn’t have called. I’ll- I don’t know, I’ll pay you or something. <br/>-You sure you can’t handle it by yourself ?<br/>-I’m… scared<br/>-Great. Just great. Call Philza. <br/>-No, please, he’s- I don’t want to pull this on him.<br/>-If, I do help. I want to talk about any apprehensive actions you might take against my person or Philza’s. I retired, I don’t want problems. Promise me, that this, whatever it is, won’t have any ill repercussion on my humble lifestyle. <br/>-Yes, please. I swear, anything. I really need you. <br/>-Okay. I suppose I might need some… dissuasive supplies such as a, I don’t know, just guessing, a full set of maxed out netherite armor, my unmatched yet varied set of weapons, some potions and gapples. Just to be sure, in case of a wild bear attack, or a sudden pulsion to eat a magic snack. </p><p>-Quite possibly Technoblade. <br/>-Very well. I’ll get my things, then I’ll call you back. You, on your end, you go somewhere safe. <br/>-But-<br/>-I won’t take no “but”. Whatever it is that I’ll have to do, we will do it by *my* terms.<br/>-Okay, Big man. I’ll- please hurry and thank you for picking up and listening to me and -<br/>-Yeah, yeah. Save it for later. Be right back.”</p><p>And the call ended.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Okay, I said that I'll put Tubbo POV in another story, but scratch that. </p><p>Constructive criticism is welcomed if you had any-</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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